冷月高挂,寒风萧瑟。这是个冬季的夜晚。徐庶彻夜未眠,坐于摇曳的烛光前,手中紧握着早上母亲从许昌捎来的书信,凝望着烛泪淋漓的烛台。窗户被寒风吹得呼呼地颤抖着,披风从他的肩上滑落下来,他丝毫没有察觉。他双眉紧锁,在前厅踱着步,烛光把他瘦长的身影映在竹帘上,幻化成大江中 Hanging cold, cold wind bleak. This is a winter night. Xu Shu thoroughly sleepless night, sitting in front of the swaying candlelight, his hand in the morning holding the letters from Xuchang, gazing at the candlestick candle tears. The window was trembling with the cold wind, and the cloak slipped down his shoulder, and he did not notice it. His eyebrows tightened up and paced in the foyer, candlelighting his elongated figure on the bamboo curtain, turning it into a river